There were, indeed, mountains.

There were lakes, and fens, and forests, and farms. Briars and hedges and tanglewood.

And always, the rumour of the devil going before them. And always, they were at least one night's, if not two or three, travel behind those rumours.

"I swear to all the gods that the devil himself could not manage such a flight," Blaine exclaimed as the weary retinue followed the pass down out of the mountains. "How does he maintain such a pace, with a newborn fledgling?"

Olivia concentrated on keeping Windborne to the path, so that she should not break a leg. They had already lost Naomi's horse, forcing them to lose time to buy another from a dealer.

The horse coper had told them the story of an entire family that had died; left lying there on the farmhouse floor, drained of blood, looks of horror on their faces. A curse had fallen on the valley, he swore, a curse that had continued westwards into Wales. Tales were already drifting back of other mysterious deaths.

Blaine's expression as he remounted his stallion Marcus after that interview had been terrible.

"If I catch that bastard," he said, guiding his horse around the newly-turned graves, "I will drive a silver stake into each of his limbs and leave him for the sun to take."

"No," said Olivia, trying not to glance at the two very small graves they bypassed, "of course you will not. You will behead him cleanly, so that all may see he is True Dead and there is no chance he can escape by some wile."

"Yes," Blaine agreed. "You are right."

Even Orrick was growing tired from the quest to catch Corbeau, and Nameless Ones did not weary easily. Yet even though the cart pushed on through the day, with its precious cargo of Prince and consort safely crated, the pursuers were always behind. Across the green swathes and hills of Wales they raced against time, with very little hope left to them.

"He'll be heading for Barmouth, sir," said Holden the werewolf. He'd not had a pleasant journey, since two full moons had passed and a third was waxing.

"Yes, I agree," Blaine said.

Barmouth was the nearest harbour of any size, in the heart of Gwenydd, a bustling port boasting a medieval tower house, from which a ship could easily be hailed and taken... anywhere. Only France was blocked to Corbeau, and he could easily sail around her and land in Spain or Italy. Or land in northern Germany. Carmine would not give knowing refuge to his master's slayer, but Rodrigo and Ingrid were capable of anything.

"We will never be able to stop him before he sets sail," Olivia fretted. They were still days from Barmouth, and the town they had just passed had suffered losses three full nights before. They were losing ground rather than gaining it.

"We have to try," said Blaine gently. "It is unlike you to give up the hunt."

"The trail is cold and the quarry fled," she replied.

"We have to try. For the boy's sake."

"Corbeau will have ruined him by now. He will think being a vampire means killing and terror."

"I have known those who can be persuaded otherwise," Blaine smiled at her.

"Now I know why they named you Prince," Olivia sighed. "Yes, let us continue the hunt. We must give it all we have."

"I am with you, my Prince, m'lady," swore Holden.

"And I," said Naomi.

"And I," added Orrick, clicking to the horses. They gave him a disbelieving look, but their muscles moved, and the cart followed.

"I never want to see a horse again," Blaine sighed as he set Marcus in motion, following the cart. "I didn't think vampires could get piles, but I swear I have them."

Olivia giggled. Blaine shot her a look that said he thought such a reaction was unseemly.

"I'm sorry," she said, hiding her mouth behind her hand. "But, really,,, vampiles."

"Saddle sores of the damned," Blaine nodded.

"Do you truly believe we are damned?" Olivia asked.

"If you believe Armand's theory as to our origin, then yes, we must be. And the more I chase this villain Corbeau, the more I believe it."

"He, perhaps, is damned. But I cannot believe that you are, or that Genevieve is, or many of the other Princes."

"How about Rodrigo?"

"He, I believe, is damned. I wish I could dam his mouth at Council meetings."

Blaine's own mouth twitched. "Yes, that would be something of a relief."

"Blaine..."

"Yes, darling?"

"If... if we succeed, what will happen to the boy?"

Blaine frowned. "Much depends on how twisted he has become. If Corbeau has succeeded in making a monster of him... well, it might be kinder to execute him, swiftly and mercifully. If, as I hope, there is something salvageable, we shall take him into the court and see what can be made of him there."

"I wish we knew more about him. He must be very frightened."

"That goes without saying."

Not much longer after that conversation, they were forced to pack themselves into the crates. When they woke the next evening, they were much closer to Gwenydd and the port of Barmouth.

But the three retainers had disturbing news, depending on how one interpreted it. None of the towns they had passed through reported any brushes with the devil. Nobody had died mysteriously and had their bodies cast contemptuously aside as if empty husks.

"He knows we are after him," Blaine said, when he heard these reports. "He is not stopping to feed, out of fear we may catch up. How much farther to Barmouth?"

"Some two day's travel," Holden replied.

"Ah, gods," Blaine sighed. "He has defeated us."

Olivia put her hand on his shoulder. "We have to try," she said. "A wise Prince told me that."

"He should have gotten a boot in the arse for saying something so utterly asinine," Blaine muttered.

"He's going to get a boot in the arse in a moment, if he doesn't get that arse on his horse."

He gave her a look. She gave him one back that said she wasn't kidding. He stifled a moan and swang himself up onto Marcus's saddle. "Tally ho!"

They raced across the moonlit hills, ever westward, the sound and smell of the sea still elusive hints in the distance. They ran until the horses could not run, then walked them cool, then rested them as briefly as they could, then ran some more. A desperate, grim hope drove them on even though Naomi was in terrible pain and Holden's eyes were glowing amber as the full moon neared. Even though the cart horses were nearly dead, and even brave Windborne trembled at her mistress's touch. Even though they knew a ship, a hundred ships, could have sailed out of Barmouth by now.

They had to try.

Dusk of the second day of this race against time and reason found them in Barmouth. Holden had pulled the cart into a quiet copse just outside of the town in order to allow his Prince and consort to emerge from their crates and make themselves presentable. Now they journeyed through the port town, eyes peeled and senses alert, ready for trouble, hoping against all hope that they were on time.

There were ships at the docks, loading or unloading cargoes from around the world. Rough sailors and longshoremen swore at each other and the wharf rats who lounged about, looking for small jobs for coins. Everywhere there were smells; dead fish, tar, canvas, rotting wood, stale drink.

Nowhere was there any sign of at least two fleeing vampires. The hunting party spread out, moving amongst the denizens of this town, asking discreet questions.

"Did you see a ravening monster, blood dripping from his fangs, dragging a young man with him, take ship?" was probably not the best question to ask.

Eventually all five of them convened in a dockside tavern; worn, dispirited, weary beyond words or actions.

"Gone," Blaine summed it up. "Sailed at the turn of the tide. We were so close..."

"And no way of knowing where they will go," Olivia sighed. The ship that Corbeau and his followers ("at least two others, including a dark-haired young lad") had caught had many ports of call in Europe.

"We will send news to the Council, so that others may watch for them," Blaine said.

"We're going to have to stay here to rest, sir," Holden said. "Before we face that long journey back home."

His Prince looked at him wordlessly for a long time. The werewolf, feeling the call of the wild in his blood, at first didn't react. But finally it dusked on him that his Prince was displeased.

"Sir?"

"Is this, or is this not, a port?" Blaine asked.

"Yes, it's a port," put in Naomi.

"And what do you usually find in a port?"

"Oh." Holden grinned, wolfishly. He couldn't help it. "We take a ship home."

Blaine reached over and patted Holden's paw. Hand. "Good boy. But... Not until _after_ the full moon."

"They got away," Orrick said, clenching his fists. "All that, and the devil once more eludes the nets cast for him."

"One day," Olivia said, her face set, "he will not. But that poor boy. Poor Baron Redoak."

"Perhaps his fate is not ours to decide, Olivia. Still, yes, the poor boy. However, we did our best by him. Let us drink to his better luck."

They raised their glasses, and toasted the new fledgling, now sailing away with his dreadful master to an unknown future.